


Sure on this Shining Night

by whatthedubbs



Series: High Summer Holds the Earth [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Arno does the Thing, Arno is a tenor, Connor is a pianist, Edward and Ezio are embarrassing, M/M, Polyamory, References to Classical Music, Robert de Sable is a terrible accompanist, gratuitous use of similie/metaphore to describe music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-11 18:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedubbs/pseuds/whatthedubbs
Summary: Arno's quest for an unoccupied practice room leads him to Connor, the school's newest (and in Arno's opinion, most fascinating) music student.Connor is finally getting to go to school, after an aborted gap year and two years spent looking after his slowly-dying mother.  All he's really looking for is half an hour away from the chaos that is college during exam prep week.





	1. Songs My Mother Taught Me

Sun slanted through the glass of the windows of the stairwell, making Arno squint as he eyed the numberplate beside each door.  He normally didn’t bother coming all the way across campus to use these practice rooms, since there were any number of suitable rooms to practice in that were both closer and more convenient than these stuffy rooms attached to the old auditorium.  But with the end of the semester coming up, all his normal haunts were occupied with students frantically studying or working on final projects; and so here he was, climbing the approximately six million stairs to the fourth floor where his department-assigned room was supposed to be located.  
  
_Why are the floors in this damn building so fucking high?_ He grumbled to himself as he passed the second floor, wincing slightly as the shrieking sound of a piccolo penetrated the door on the landing as if it wasn’t even there.  He hoped that the sound would be at least slightly less obnoxious two floors removed; but he sincerely doubted that it would make much difference.    
  
He was sweating slightly by the time he reached the third floor; a combination of the too-effective steam heating and the sun-warmed air causing his hair to stick to his brow and his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his back.  He darted a glare at the obviously-freshman plunking away on the shitty piano in the third floor practice room through the wide open door.  _Moron.  Close the damn door like a decent human being._  
  
Arno made sure to make as much noise as possible as he crossed the landing and began to ascend the final two flights to the top floor.  Hopefully the kid would get the message and shut the door himself.  
  
He groaned as he reached the intermediate landing, becoming aware of further piano-plunking coming from above.  Better quality plunking, to be sure; but still coming from the room that he had definitely reserved for this time block last week.  _Does anyone at this school know how to fucking read a room schedule?_  
  
Arno hauled himself up the last few stairs and glared at the closed door to room 4A.  Through the frosted glass he could see an indistinct figure seated at the piano, their back to the door.  It was immediately obvious that this wasn’t some freshman theory student struggling through their first proficiency exam; the notes that drifted through the door were too even and confident for that.  Too bad.  The new ones were easier to dislodge.  
  
He rapped his knuckles gently on the wood between the glass panes to get the attention of the occupant, and a few moments later the quiet tinkling of the keys ceased.  Arno watched the figure inside stand up and stretch before moving toward the door.  A moment later the door swung open and Desmond had to adjust his gaze upwards to meet their eyes.    
  
_Okay.  Not a music major then._   The guy in front of him wasn’t among the photos of declared majors that Lucy kept pinned to the cork board in the arts office.  He was tall, with dark tan skin and high cheekbones and a slight dusting of freckles framing golden-brown eyes.  The sides of his head were shaved, the long hair on top braided into a long rope that hung over his shoulder with one of those brightly-colored fuzzy craft feathers fastened through the tie at the end.  _Good looking, that’s for sure._  
  
“Sorry for taking up the room,”  the guy smiled sheepishly.  “You’re Arno?”  
  
_Nice voice_ _too._ Arno nodded and extended a hand to shake.  “Yeah. You?”  
  
“Raton- uh, I mean- Connor.”  The man’s face darkened slightly with embarrassment as he tripped over his own name, but he reached out and shook Arno’s hand with a good firm grip.  
  
“You new around here?”  
  
Connor nodded.  “Just moved down from Canada last week.  I’m starting classes in January.”  
  
“Transferring?”  
  
“No.  I had to delay for two years off after my gap year, so I’m just starting.”  The man looked a little sheepish.  “I meant to be done before you got here, but I guess I lost track of time.”  _Courteous too?_  
  
“It’s cool, eh?”  Arno waved his apology away as an idea came to him.  “Honestly, I could use an accompanist for a bit if that’s something you can do?”  He plunged a hand into his satchel and pulled out his spare music folder.  “I wouldn’t normally ambush someone like this, but I’ve got a recital at the end of the week, and I haven’t been able to get a practice slot with the department accompanist until the day of, so…”  
  
Connor gave a small “ah” of understanding and reached out to accept the binder from Arno’s hands, flipping it open and taking a quick look at the titles inside.  Arno noticed that just a hint of pink tongue poked out of the corner of Connor’s mouth as he read, and then immediately wrenched his attention away from the man’s mouth before he could be noticed.  _Down boy,_ he chided himself.  
  
“I think I can manage this for you,” Connor’s response came a moment later, fingers still perusing the pages.  “I’ve done the Dvorak and the Barber before, and I know the Vaughan Williams from recordings.”  He looks up, one corner of his lips twitching upwards in a small smile.  “You’ve got good taste.”  
  
Arno returns the smile with one of his own as he slips his own music folder from his bag.  “You as well, apparently.  Shall we?”  
  
Connor’s smile quirks up another few degrees and he steps back into the room, making space for Arno to slip through the door and drop his bag against the wall.  A short while later the door is closed and Arno is beginning his warm ups while Connor makes a few notes in the music.  Thankfully, the closed door has muffled the shrieking of the flutist two floors down, and Arno can feel his earlier irritation gradually slipping away as he submerges himself in the headspace he reserves for singing.    
  
He may or may not be showing off a bit as he works his way up to the high C (he won’t even need it for anything today), but Connor seems impressed so fuck it.  Once he’s finished he flips open his folder and sets it on the closed lid of the piano opposite Connor.  
  
“Ready?”  He asks, catching the other’s eyes.  “I’d like to start with the Dvorak, cool?”  
“Sure.”  Connor takes a moment to turn to the first page, then turns his golden eyes back up to Arno, giving him his full attention, fingers poised.  
  
Arno would love to take a moment to bask in Connor’s complete focus, but they have things to do.  In any case, said attention is likely only indicative of good musicianship, rather than any other sort of interest.  He gives Connor the tempo he wants, and then waits as the pianist launches into the introduction, the man’s whole body broadcasting the motions of his fingers clearly.  His eyes slide closed briefly as he winds back the intensity of the accompaniment to something more intimate before snapping back to Arno to match his entrance.    
  
Arno meets his gaze as he takes his first breath, shaping his lips around the opening syllable as he does.  He hopes his appreciation for Connor’s obvious skill shows through his eyes as he launches into the text.  
  
_“Když mne stará matka zpívat, zpívat učívala…”_  
  
  
—  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn’t planning on running into anyone today if he could help it. He’d never particularly enjoyed being the center of attention unless he had nine feet of piano between him and the audience, and turning up in the middle of the year as a new student was bound to give him a lower profile then arriving in the fall with all the much younger freshmen.    
  
And now, despite his best efforts, he’s ended up playing accompanist to the first member of the student population he’s properly met.  Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.  Arno seems friendly enough despite the scowl that he’d initially been wearing when Ratonhnhaké:ton opened the door.  He was also, Ratonhnhaké:ton quickly realized, very talented with his voice.  The man made the first soaring notes sound completely effortless, the Czech rolling flawlessly off his tongue, his eyes, after an initial look of approval, dropped seamlessly into the character of the music, full of warm-hearted nostalgia sharpened by something bittersweet.    
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton found himself deeply grateful that he was already familiar with the music, because by the second line he was finding it very difficult to tear his eyes away.  The way Arno’s whole person became engaged in the words pouring through his lips, and the words themselves made it seem incredibly personal, although Arno had no way of knowing how close to home he was hitting.  
  
  
—  
  
  
“…když cigánské děti hrát a zpívat, hrát a zpívat učím!”  
  
Arno ushers the final syllables into the room as gently as he can, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment as he lands upon the final note and hears accompaniment swell underneath him in a final longing wave.  He stands there with eyes closed and the slightest of smiles upon his lips as the final chords drift through the air.  He waits a breath after the sound stops before breaking character and opening his eyes, his smile widening considerably.  
  
“Dude!” he points an excited finger at Connor. “You’re awesome!”  
  
Connor’s face flushes slightly at his praise, a depreciating smile crinkling the corners of his lips.  “You broadcast very clearly, so it’s not exactly hard to follow,” He mutters.  “You sing very well.”  
  
Now it’s Arno’s turn to flush, probably much more noticeably than Connor, to his dismay.  “Thanks.” _Get a grip Dorian!_  
  
Connor’s smile has returned to a more genuine quality a moment later as he looks back down at the music.  “Was there anything you wanted to go over again?”  The man asks, flipping through the pages absently.  
  
“Nah,”  Arno waves him away.  “It’s not going to go that well at the recital, since our accompanist is a complete hack.”  He flips to the next piece absently, holding up the Barber so Connor can see what he wants to work on next.  “I’d rather not get too used to being actually followed.”  
  
Connor’s eyebrows raise, but he nods anyway and flips his own pages, before settling his full attention back upon Arno, waiting for his cue.  
  
  
\--  
  
When they finish up about an hour later, Ratonhnhaké:ton is already aware that he might be in over his head.  But he offers anyway, because after hearing Arno complain about the man, Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t particularly want to hear de Sable butcher Arno’s performance.  The look of delight on the man’s face when he actually suggests it is well worth the deluge of requests Arno has assured him he’s likely to receive.    
  
And so he now finds himself stuffing Arno’s spare music folder into his bag and following the other man down the stairs and out into the wan and watery winter light.  They end up walking together to the fine arts office, where Arno has the department secretary (“Her name is Lucy and she is the only one who can make stuff happen around here”), add Ratonhnhaké:ton to the recital’s program as Arno’s accompanist.    
  
Afterwards, as he’s slipping his snowshoes on for the trip across the back-campus fields to the apartment he’s been assigned to, he looks up at the star-speckled ribbon of the milky way, and for the first time in weeks he feels the tight knot under his breast loosen instead of pulling tighter.  Perhaps tonight,  somewhere up among the stars his mother has turned her head over her shoulder to smile the special smile he knows is only for him.  He smiles back,  because how can he not?  He has begun to feel the tug of the world around him again, after worrying that it would never take him back.  He will not be stuck in mourning forever.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arno makes a move.

Arno isn’t exactly disappointed that Connor doesn’t have a meal plan, and therefore can’t stay for dinner in the cafeteria.  Sure, he’d like to spend more time with the guy; but then he’d have to introduce him to his other music friends.  Arno selfishly wants to keep Connor for himself just a bit longer before every performance major on campus is bugging him to accompany them.    
  
He allows himself exactly .04 seconds to become goo over the way Connor’s eyes crinkle with a smile when they wave goodbye at the doors to the student union before he ducks inside and into the line for the cafeteria.    
  
Any plans he had for pretending that he’d had a totally normal day are shot all to hell the moment Evie sets her eyes on him as he approaches their usual table.  Arno has no idea how she could possibly read anything from his face, considering it’s still ninety percent obscured by his scarf and hat.  
  
“Arno likes a boy!” She announces to the table at large, immediately attracting the attention of anyone within a ten-foot radius.    
  
Arno groans internally and lets his shoulders sag pathetically as he slides into the chair next to Evie’s twin Jacob and starts to shed his winter gear. It’s no use trying to deny it; he’s learned through experience that Evie is not to be doubted over such statements.  
  
Evie’s smile rapidly morphs from smug into something warmers she leans forward to steal one of the fries off his plate.  “It’s a good look for you.  You should like boys more often.”  
  
“Evie, I always like boys.”  
  
Jacob begins cackling at his response, predictably.  Evie shoots him an exasperated look then turns he attention back to Arno.  “I was speaking about whichever particular boy you happen to have been liking today.  They are obviously of superior quality to the ones you normally associate with.”    
  
“You should be nicer to your brother Evie.”  Arno can’t help but laugh at the outraged look on Jacob’s face.  “But yes, he seems very nice.”  
  
“So tell us about this very nice boy that you like,” Evie prompts, her eyebrows performing the subtlest of wiggles.  “What year is he in?  Where’s he from?  What’s his major?  Inquiring minds want to know.”  
  
“Uh…”  Arno does not, in fact, know the full answer to any of those questions.  “He’s like, a super freshman?  He said he had to postpone two years after his gap year.  He’s from somewhere in Canada; and I don’t know what his major is, but he plays the piano.”  
  
“Name?”  
  
“Connor.”  
  
“Look him up,” Evie says, pushing her phone at Jacob before reaching across the table to swipe another of Arno’s fries.  “So why didn’t you bring this very nice boy to meet us, Arno?”  
  
“He’s not on the meal plan; and he wanted to get back to brick city before it got dark,” Arno answers.  Evie’s perfectly aware that Arno probably didn’t try to convince him very hard precisely because he was looking to put off the friend-terrogation (as Jacob likes to refer to it); but that’s okay.  He knows she won’t push.  
“Dude, are you sure he goes here?  I’m not finding a Connor anywhere in the new student directory,” Jacob speaks up, passing the phone back to Evie.  “What does he look like?”  
  
“Nope,” Arno shakes his head.  “But it’s not like there are any other colleges he could be a student at around here.”  Arno makes a show of shoving the last of his food into his mouth.  “And I’m not telling you what he looks like because you’ll just freak him out by stalking him everywhere.”  
  
“Fair,” Evie concedes, even as Jacob opens his mouth to protest.  “Is he going to be at the recital on Thursday?”  
  
Arno pauses, then nods.  “Yeah.  He seems kinda quiet, though; so maybe don’t mob him all at once?”  
  
“Done.”  
  
——  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton is already done with Edward and Ezio’s antics by the end of the second day living in their suite.  Both of the others are seniors who ought to be working on their theses, but instead seem to spend all day cavorting around the apartment like wild animals.  They’re considerate after a fashion; not making any comments about the more obviously _Kanienʼkehá꞉ka_ parts of him.  Ezio immediately removes the very insensitive high school pennant that he had hung above his door without Ratonhnhaké:ton even having to look at it twice.  They don’t pry when it becomes obvious he does not want to talk about why he is starting college so late.  
  
He’s sure that once he’s more used to them they’ll get along fine.  But right now their antics are driving him up the wall.  
  
“I can’t believe it!” Wails Ezio, arm dramatically thrown across his brow.  “Our _bambino_ isn’t even on campus a week and he’s already in love!”  The man just laughs at the way Ratonhnhaké:ton rolls his eyes at him, and starts shouting for Edward to hurry up and finish his shower so they can “give him the Talk.”  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton is not looking forward to this.  “I’m not doing this,” he announces, snapping his theory textbook closed and making to get up from the couch in their living room.  
  
“Nope!”  Ezio keeps laughing as he pushes Ratonhnhaké:ton back down into his seat.  “We are not going to let you get out of sharing the details just because you are new.  It’s in the apartment bylaws and everything.”  His grin is infuriating.    
  
“It’s true.  Ezio’s older brother wrote them up in fancy lawyer-words and everything last time he visited,” says a still-dripping but thankfully clothed Edward as he flings himself onto the couch on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s other side, skillfully plucking the textbook out of his hands before he can be stopped.  
  
“We will not force you, obviously,” Ezio slings an arm across his shoulders that Ratonhnhaké:ton immediately shrugs off.  Ezio has a problem with personal space that is not appreciated.  “But it is obvious that you are still recovering from whatever happened that caused you to take those years off.  Edward and I have agreed that looking out for you is something we want to do.”  
  
“I’m fine.  I don’t need to be looked after.”  
  
“You’re doing great.”  Edward agrees.  “We’re still gonna care.  Now.  Give us some details.  Guy or girl? Neither? Both?”  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton is still not doing this, although their concern is touching.  “No.”  
  
“Where did you meet them then?  Coffee shop?  The mail room?  Did you knock them over while slipping on ice?  Malik’s brother meets more than half the people he dates by falling on them by accident.  Was it at a music thin- YES IT WAS!  Look at our _bambino_ blushing!”  Ezio crows in delight at this information.    
  
“Leave me alone.”  
  
Ezio holds up his hands in surrender.  “Fine, fine.  But if they do music here then you should go and see them at the recital on Thursday.  Claudia tells me that all the music students are required to perform.  Myself and Edward are going to see her play in the afternoon.  You should find out when they are playing so you can go see them.”  
  
“If I say I will, are you going to leave me alone?”  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
  
——  
  
Thursday rolls around before Arno feels ready.  Not to perform his selection; he’s been ready for that for weeks.  No, he’s not sure he’s ready for the secret of Connor’s identity to be blown to his friend group.  They’ve been practicing together all week, and Arno’s been selfishly enjoying having Connor all to himself.  Not that they’ve spend much time together outside of their rehearsals, but what time they have spent has felt like it was just for them.  Arno’s not sure if that’s how Connor would choose to think about it, but to him it is.    
  
Right now Connor is a comforting-electrifying presence standing behind him in the wings while they wait for their turn on the stage.  The current performer is struggling to keep up with de Sable’s runaway accompaniment; occasionally skipping a whole bar just to catch up.  Arno can hear disapproving sounds from Connor each time it happens.  _See what we have to deal with?_  
  
“That man should be fired,”  the man whispers as de Sable introduces a sudden _ritardando_ that  causes the poor oboist to soar almost two bars ahead, then speeds up as soon as the woman slows down to match him.  “How has he not been fired?”  
  
Arno shrugs.  “Connections?  He’s not usually this overt; but Maria is his least favorite student.”  
  
“Unbelievable.”  
  
The music onstage is finally drawing to an end, Maria obviously having given up on de Sable entirely by this point as she flings herself into the last flourish.  She does not even turn to look at him before she bows and then strides purposely off the stage.  De Sable isn’t even finished with the last bar before she’s brushing past Arno and Connor in the wings, her face livid.  Behind her, de Sable stands up and bows himself before heading to his customary seat behind the curtain on the other side of the stage.    
  
Arno takes a deep breath as he waits for the commotion (but not applause) in the recital hall to subside before he steps out onto the stage himself.  The auditorium falls silent, and he can feel at least fifty pairs of eyes focusing a few feet behind him.  A glance over his shoulder shows that Connor is resolutely ignoring the stares, face carefully neutral as he kneels down to adjust the bench for his greater height.    
  
Arno decides to forgo the stand that Maria left on the stage, setting it out of the way as he moves to stand in the curve of the piano.  He meets Connor’s eyes as the other man takes his seat, and gets a small smile in return.  There’s a rustle of pages as Connor arranges his music on the desk, but then his complete attention is focused on Arno again.  
  
Once again, it’s almost intoxicating.  The stage lights only serve to highlight Connor’s dusting of freckles; his black button-down straining across broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves exposing exquisitely toned forearms.  Arno takes all of these details in, but they’re secondary to whatever emotion is behind the man’s golden-brown eyes.  It’s something Arno hasn’t experienced before; something in addition to the usual respect and encouragement that he can’t quite decipher.  There’s an edge to it.  Something not quite brittle, but almost crystalline.  _What are you thinking?_  
  
Arno doesn’t have the time to ponder it now.  The silence of the room is demanding to be filled.  He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply.  He calls up the character he’s created for this song; for these particular words.  His feels his face relax as he sinks into it.  He opens his eyes.  Connor is still waiting, hands poised.  There’s a moment of stillness; then Arno gives a subtle nod, and Connor takes a breath before brining his hands down to strike out two open chords upon the keys. The second chord is still fading when Arno draws a deep breath of his own to begin.  
  
_“Bright is the ring of words_

_When the right man rings them,_

_Fair the fall of songs_

_When the singer sings them._

_Still they are caroled and said –_

_On wings they are carried –_

_After the singer is dead_

_And the maker buried.”_  
  
Connor follows his lead precisely, just as he does in practice.  He occasionally has to look down at the music, but mostly keeps his eyes up and on Arno’s face; and Arno wishes he could get away with the same.  Instead, he makes sure to keep his singing addressed to the audience as much as he can; and resolutely ignores the gleeful faces of his friends sitting nearly in the front row.    
  
——  
  
“Fuck, he’s hot!  Jacob hisses in his sister’s ear.  “Who even is he?  Evie?”  
  
She reaches over without looking and pinches him sharply.  “Shut up!”  
  
——  
  
“Wow.  I’m not sure what I’m seeing here.  Are they connecting to some sort of hive mind?” Edward whispers.  
  
“Possibly.  Do you think this is our _bambino_ ’s amore?  I have not seen him look at anyone else that way.”  
  
“I dunno.  Maybe.”  
  
——  
  
_“Low as the singer lies_  
_In the field of heather…”_  
  
Arno can feel his attention slipping away from the audience as he begins the second stanza, his gaze drawn more frequently to Connor as the music becomes softer and more tender in quality.  Come on Dorian!  At least attempt to pretend you’re not thinking about kissing him stupid.  He forces himself to face forward again, although he can still see Connor from the corner of his eye.  
  
_“Songs of his fashion_  
_Bring the swains together…”_  
  
——  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton can still feel a lingering trace of the anger that had arisen while he watched de Sable embarrass Maria, but it’s quickly slipping away with each time that Arno’s eyes meet his.  He does not miss the way the other man’s ears pink slightly when he catches himself watching.  It seems to be happening more and more as the song goes on, but Ratonhnhaké:ton can’t devote enough of his attention to it to be sure without hurting the quality of his playing.  
  
Arno himself is distracting enough as he is.  Ratonhnhaké:ton is resolutely ignoring how good his lips look as they shape the words, and the way that each breath the singer draws in makes the shirt that he is wearing pull tight over his chest.  Ratonhnhaké:ton keeps his gaze focused on Arno’s face instead, letting Arno dictate the movement of his hands through the subtle changes of his expression.    
  
——  
  
_“And when the west is red_  
_With the sunset embers,_  
_The lover lingers and sings_  
_And the maid remembers.”_  
  
Arno releases the final note into the hungry dark of the auditorium with closed eyes and upturned face, a smile in the corners of his eyes as the silence stretches out for a few seconds before the applause begins.  He opens his eyes then, and smiles.  He can see Connor’s own smile out of the corner of his eye as the man turns to the beginning of the next piece.  Arno waits for the applause to die out, then gives the signal, and Connor launches into the introduction with gusto.  
  
——

  
“I’m getting this guy for my next recital.  Fuck de Sable and his stupid vendetta.  I would let that guy do whatever the fuck he wanted if he’s always that good.”  
  
Evie sighed and smacked Jacob around the back of the head for being an idiot.  Again.  “It is painfully obvious that this… I can’t actually pronounce his name.  Whatever.  It’s obvious that he’s got a massive heart-boner for our small French-Canadian friend, so leave him be.  I’m sure he’d be happy to work with you without exchanging sexual favors just because you’re friends with the boy he likes.”  
  
There’s a moment or two of silence while the two of them watch and listen.    
  
“Arno sounds good, anyway.”  
  
“He does.”  
  
“Is he doing the _Thing_ on this program?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Raton-what’s-his-name is totally fucked.  Seriously.  Even Altair was fucking crying last time he did that one.  How did this guy even survive rehearsing it?”  
  
——  
  
_“…když cigánské děti hrát a zpívat, hrát a zpívat učím!”_  
  
Arno let the final note go as Connor wound the song to a close.  His chest was still heaving from the intensity of the final phrase, and his cheeks were probably flushed.  When he darted a glance in Connor’s direction then man had his eyes closed, hands moving with a fluid sureness as he touched upon the final chords.  This time, Arno didn’t bother looking away until the silence was broken by applause again, content to watch until Connor opened his eyes again and gave him a small smile before turning to acknowledge the audience.    
  
He rolled his eyes when he saw Jacob and Evie cackling in the front row.  Jacob in particular looked especially gleeful; which meant that he thought that Arno was about to do the _Thing_.  Arno considered it.  He’d been planning on it when he submitted his pieces, primarily to get back at Jacob for stealing his favorite underwear the last time he slept over; but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that to Connor yet.  He preferred to save stunts like that for when he was sure that the person on the receiving end was interested.  
  
He looked momentarily over at Connor.  _Should I?_  
  
“Evie says you should do it Arn-  OW!”  Jacob certainly thought so.  When Arno turned to give them a look Jacob was rubbing his ear and Evie was smiling encouragingly.  _Well if Evie thinks it’s a good idea…_  
  
“Hey Connor, do you think we could turn the piano a little bit more away from the audience so I can see you better?”  
  
“Whatever you need.  Help me move it?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
——  
  
“He’s going to fucking do it!”  Jacob was practically bouncing in his seat.  “Holy shit.  This guy is helping dig his own grave.”  
  
Both of them start in surprise when a rather large body drops into the unoccupied seat next to Jacob and a new voice whispers, “what’s the _Thing_?”  
  
The twins both turn and stare at the interloper.  He waves.  “Hey.  I’m Edward.  Connor’s my housemate.  What’s the _Thing_?”  
  
Jacob grins.  “Arno is like, _really_ good at flustering people with certain songs.  Like, good enough to make de Sable make genuine mistakes.  It’s awesome.”  
  
“It is very impressive,” Evie confirms with a nod.  “It also means that he either dislikes your housemate intensely or has a crush on him.”  
  
“Which do you think it is?”  
  
“Crush.”  Jacob smirks.  “Look how red his ears are getting.”  
  
“It’s too late to do anything about it now,” Evie says, patting Edward reassuringly on the shoulder as apparently-Connor takes his seat again and Arno takes his place again.  “Your housemate is about to be reduced to a puddle of goo.  Too bad we didn’t bring popcorn.”  
  
  
——  
  
**Ezio** : So what’s the /Thing/?  
  
**Edward** : high octane flirting apparently  
**Edward** : im told that Connor will be reduced to a ‘puddle of goo’  
  
**Ezio** : There is no way that man is that good at flirting.  He looks far too timid.  
  
**Edward** : apparently this is his only method  
  
——  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton was not prepared for this.  
  
The look Arno fixed him with when they were poised to begin was such a potent mixture of warmth and tenderness that he nearly missed the cue to begin.  Unlike before, Arno did not look away to the audience when it was time for him to sing.  Instead, he leaned forward slightly, eyes sliding nearly closed as he formed his lips sensually around the first phrase.  
  
_“Sure on this shining night of star-made shadows round,”_  

The words spilled from his lips effortlessly, Arno’s green-grey eyes fixed intently upon his own.  Ratonhnhaké:ton swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.  _What is happening?_  
  
_“Kindness must watch for me this side the ground.”_

There was an obvious fondness in the way Arno ran one of his hands over the lid of the piano; an obvious desire to touch applied to the instrument as if it were an extension of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s own body.  The sensual trail Arno’s fingers traced around the curve of the piano made his face heat, the intention behind the movement clear.  Ratonhnhaké:ton was sure if the singer was actually trying to draw attention to his lips with the way he moved them, the purse of them almost obscene.  
  
_“The late year lies down the north.  All is healed.  All is Health.”_  
  
With the increase in volume came a matching increase in the intensity of Arno’s expression.  His eyes were full of quiet yet unwavering reassurance, as if to say _I will help you lay down your fears and feel safe again_. He took a step forward, not quite pressing himself into the piano, his face leaning even closer.  Ratonhnhaké:ton’s hands were operating on autopilot.  It felt like Arno was taking him apart piece by piece with just his eyes and his voice; each element of his self examined, deemed worthy, and set lovingly back into place.  _Known_.  
  
_“High summer holds the Earth.  Hearts all whole.”_  
  
_You will be safe here.  Your recovery made complete._ The tenderness was back in full force now, brought to the fore with the _subito piano_ as other emotions were allowed to drop away temporarily.  Arno’s fingertips traced a wide circle upon the lid.  
  
_“Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder.”_  
  
The reprise of the first phrase brought back with it the same warmth, this time with a touch of what could almost be called awe.  Arno’s hand rose up from the piano, reaching toward Ratonhnhaké:ton as if to caress his face, though the man was standing too far away to actually attempt to touch.  _How are you even real?_  
  
_“Wand’ring far alone of shadows on the stars.”_  
  
The way Arno’s face seemed to crumple almost brought Ratonhnhaké:ton to tears.  The sudden emptiness and loneliness that overtook his face almost unbearable to watch; the way his outstretched hand fell to his side like a punch to the gut.  Arno’s gaze never broke, and the desolation seemed to fade from his gaze as he brought the final line to a close; the warmth returning as if Arno was pulling it directly from the fire that heated Ratonhnhaké:ton’s cheeks and the back of his neck.  The hand that had dropped made its way back onto the piano, delicate fingers curling possessively around the overhang or the lid.    
  
Arno’s almost wavering smile as he waited for the final bars to draw to a close set Ratonhnhaké:ton’s heart racing.  He wasn’t ready to return to reality yet.  _Neither am I_.  And yet the end of the music was upon them; there were no more notes on the page for them to play.  Ratonhnhaké:ton left his foot on the pedal, desperate to spend a few more moments in whatever world Arno had constructed around them while he wasn’t looking.  
  
The applause shattered the moment, but Arno did not break eye contact immediately.  Ratonhnhaké:ton was able to watch as the emotions that had been written large on the other man’s face were wrestled back beneath the surface.  _As if they were not ready to be put away yet._  
  
Arno did not have to turn far to face the audience, and yet Ratonhnhaké:ton had to stop himself from making an involuntary noise when the other man looked away.  
  
——  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Connor looks like he’s gonna cry.”  
  
“Common side effect.”  
  
Onstage, Arno was taking his bow, then gesturing to a still-dazed Connor, who got to his feet and bowed as well, obviously not really seeing the audience at all.  Arno’s face was flushed, a self-conscious smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he waited for Connor to collect his music; and then with another small bow he lead the way off the stage.  
  
“Arno won’t let him leave without saying something,” Evie informed Edward as the man frowned after them.  “Or a hug, if they want it.  He doesn’t do the Thing for amusement.”  
  
“Unless it’s at me.”  
  
“Yes, unless you are my brother and you steal his underwear.  Then you are fair game.  I imagine Jacob was supposed to be the original target.”  
  
Edward regarded the younger man with narrowed eyes.  “Why are you stealing his underwear?”  
  
Jacob shrugged, but his face was noticeably redder. “We fuck sometimes.  When there’s something we want to try out.  We’re not interested in dating each other though.  Last time was a couple weeks before thanksgiving.  We always lay off if one of us is interested in someone though, so don’t give me that look.”  
  
“Fine.  I’m telling Connor if he doesn’t, thought.”  
  
“Please do.”  
  
——  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton was still in a bit of a confused daze when Arno led him down a narrow hallway somewhere behind the stage.  The other man didn’t touch him; and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated that or not.  
  
“Hey, sit down with me for a bit, okay?”  Arno stopped and waved a hand at a couple of chairs that were arranged against the wall.  Ratonhnhaké:ton complied, watching Arno’s face for any hints of the things that had been so obvious on the stage.  
  
“What was that about?”  He asked.  All he could find now was self-consciousness, and it was making him nervous.  
  
Arno’s face became even more anxious.  “Uh, I’m terrible at flirting unless I do it to music; and I wanted to let you know that I’m, uh, interested?  If you are?”  
  
“If I’m what?”  
  
“Interested.  In me, I mean.”  Arno ran a nervous hand through his hair.  “It’s just… You’re… Well- kind of incredible?  Like, not just a great musician, but also really easy to talk to and kind and stuff.  And like, unfairly good-looking.”  
  
“Um.”  Ratonhnhaké:ton could feel his face heating back up.  
  
“Do you want a hug?  I’ve been told it helps.”  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton thought about it for a moment, then nodded.  Arno stood from his chair and tugged Ratonhnhaké:ton to his feet so he could wrap his arms around him.  
  
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Arno said as he pulled Ratonhnhaké:ton closer, arms sliding across the material of his shirt and sending a small shiver down his spine.  Arno smelled nice, he noticed; like fresh mint and woodland herbs.  Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to answer though.  _I want the things you showed to me._  
  
He pulled back until he could look Arno in the eye.  “I am interested,” he admitted, lips beginning to curve up into a smile.  Things were beginning to feel more real again, not that he particularly minded given the circumstances. “Would you like to have lunch together after this?”  
  
“We’ll have to sneak out the back way if we don’t want my friends to ambush us; but yeah.  I’d love to.”  
  
——  
  
Arno: Don’t wait up.  Having lunch with Connor.  
  
Jacob: Evie is going to murder you.  
  
Arno: :P  
  
Arno: Connor says he’ll avenge me.  
  
Jacob: BTW we met his roommates.  
Jacob: They say to tell him about the underwear.  
  
Arno: I want those back still.  
  
Jacob: I’ll leave them on your doorknob.  
Jacob: Sorry about the stain.  
  
Arno: I hate you.  
  
——  
  
Jacob:  BTW, your boyfriend’s name is unpronounceable.  
  
Arno: Maybe for you.  
  
——

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this became a 4500 word monster and is probably riddled with errors. I always have trouble picking a tense to write in when I write fiction, and I feel like it's really obvious here. Anyone who wants to go over future chapters to make sure that they don't have this problem would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I'm not sure how well Arno's /thing/ translates to prose. I know in my head what he's doing; but I feel like it might not seem convincing to other people.


	3. The Coolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that there isn't a huge overarching plot going on here. I'm adding a second work in the series for more explicit vignettes, although most of them happen at least a year into the future.

“Are you going home over the break?” Arno asks as they sit squeezed around one of the tiny round tables that occupy the back wall of the coffee shop in the student union. His last exam finished half an hour ago, but he’s supposed to be meeting his dad in Washington on Monday, so he’s in no rush to pack and leave like most of the other students. Connor is around too, although Arno thinks that has more to do with the fact that he doesn’t have family to go back to than any real desire to remain on campus.

“No,” Connor answers, turning his hot chocolate between his palms. “I was planning to stay here, since the house is rented. What about you?”

Arno shrugs. “I’m meeting my dad in DC on Monday, but I’m around until then.” He takes a sip from the tea he’d gotten in deference to Connor’s intense dislike for the smell of coffee. “I’m free if you want to do something before then, though. We could have a sleep-over and stay up late watching bad TV and braiding each other’s hair.”

Connor gives him a _look_ for that suggestion; and Arno immediately flushes bright red and chokes on his tea as he realizes what he’s just implied. “Oh my God no! I didn’t mean a sleep-over the way Jacob does. Not that I would say no; because you’re _very_ attractive! But we’re, like, really new; and I don’t want you to think that I’m only interested in sex, because… Um.“

His boyfriend is laughing. Well that’s good. Connor has a really nice laugh. Arno thinks he could listen to it all day. The way his nose scrunches up and his shoulders shake is endearing. “Shut up.” Arno folds his arms across his chest defensively.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” Connor manages through his chuckles. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist winding you up a little.” The man does his best to look repentant, although the way the corners of his lips keep twitching says otherwise. It’s dawning on Arno that Connor is more of a little shit than he generally lets on. “Sure, we can do a sleep-over before Monday. Your place or mine?”

 _Two can play at this game_. “Yours,” Arno announces. “Ezio and Edward can chaperone.”

Connor’s annoyed huff is almost as endearing as his laugh.

——

“Hey Connor, can we talk for a sec?” Edward waves him over to the couch as soon as he has his boots off. Ratonhnhaké:ton grunts in acknowledgement as he unwinds his scarf from his face. The man isn’t holding a beer or grinning like a loon, so it’s probably safe.

Edward smiles as Ratonhnhaké:ton takes a seat next to him, automatically ducking the hand reaching over to ruffle his hair. “How’s the boyfriend?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolls his eyes. “Good. He says hi. Was there something you needed?”

Edward shrugs. “Not really. Just wanted to let you know that Ezio’s other boyfriend Leonardo’s gonna be back next semester. So like, if you see a pretty paint-splattered dude with crazy hair wandering around the apartment. Don’t be alarmed.” Edward points to one of the many printed-out photographs that are haphazardly stuck to the wall by the front door. It’s a black-and-white shot of Ezio, Edward, and a third man Ratonhnhaké:ton assumes must be Leonardo, standing in front of what looks like a Buddhist temple.

Ratonhnhaké:ton raised an eyebrow quizzically, turning his attention back to Edward. “I thought you were Ezio’s boyfriend.”

“He is.”

“Is Leonardo also your boyfriend?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Connor shifts to get up. “Thanks for telling me. Please do not have sex in the kitchen.”

Edward looks a little surprised at his blunt acceptance, but doesn’t question it. “I’ll pass that along.” The man pulls his phone out to presumably text the other two. “Any plans for tonight?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton pauses at the door to his room, ears turning slightly pink at the question, although Edward doesn’t see it. “Arno might come by for dinner,” he says as casually as he can manage. The way Edward snaps his head around to look at him, and the Cheshire-esque grin spreading across the man’s face tell Ratonhnhaké:ton that he’s been unsuccessful.

“Awww! He want’s to make a good impression on your parents!” Ratonhnhaké:ton stiffens visibly, and Edward immediately stops, levering himself up off the couch, face suddenly more serious.

“Hey, if the way Ezio and I joke about you being the baby of the family bothers you, we’ll stop, okay? Don’t worry about telling us if something we do makes you feel uncomfortable.” Edward’s smile returns, more normal than his earlier grin. “We’d still like to meet him if that’s cool. Ezio can make something for dinner.”

“If he wants to then that would be great,” Ratonhnhaké:ton turns back to unlock his door. “I’ll let you know about the… other stuff.”

“I’ll text him. You let Arno know he’s welcome anytime.”

——

The Pyramid

Edward: so connors new boyfriend is coming to dinner

Ezio: Do you need me to cook?

Edward: yep

Leonardo: Did you get a chance to tell him?

Edward: yeah  
Edward: he said not to have sex in the kitchen  
Edward: /ezio/

Ezio: For the bambino I will restrain myself.

Leonardo: Did he say anything about the living room, bathroom, or hallway?

Edward: not specifically

Leonardo: Sweet.

Ezio: You have a problem.

——

It’s still light outside when Arno arrives at Connor’s front door, although it won’t be for much longer. Heavy clouds threaten more snow soon as he kicks his boots against the stairs to clean the powder off them. The apartment is identical to its neighbors on the outside; except for the brightly painted plastic fish affixed to the door knocker. Arno regards it suspiciously, then reaches for the doorbell.

“Coming!” Shouts a voice from inside, followed a moment later by a loud crash and indistinct swearing.

The door opens a few seconds later to reveal Connor’s, slightly pink in the face. Behind him stood a tall man with blond hair and a devious grin on his face. Arno raised an eyebrow. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Connor turned to give his roommate a look that made the other man yelp and trip over the coffee table as he tried to escape. “Edward was being obnoxious. Come in, please.”

There’s a jumble of various shoes and boots inside the door, so Arno kicks his own boots into the pile while Connor takes his coat. In the living room multicolored lights are strung up around the walls, themselves covered with drawings and photographs. From what he assumes is the kitchen comes the sound of two people having an argument in two different languages, as well as the rattling of pots and pans. It’s cozy and lived in, although Arno can’t see any traces of Connor in the place aside from his coat and hat hung up by the door.

“ _Mi dispiace_! Dinner will be ready in a moment,” a voice floats out of the kitchen. “Connor, could you come get Edward before he sets something on fire?”

“ _Fuck you, I’m not even touching anything!”_

“ _Amore_ , your ability to cause accidents in the kitchen transcends the bounds of the physical world. Go and greet our guest.”

There’s some indistinct grumbling while Arno and Connor trade confused glances, and then the blond man from before is back with a grumpy expression and a splatter of what Arno hopes to god is alfredo sauce on his cheek. The man stops in the doorway and looks Arno up and down; eyes narrowed. Arno reaches up self-consciously to flatten his hat-hair, and gets a grin in response. “So you’re Arno.”

“Um. Yeah. Nice to meet you,” He holds out a hand for Edward to shake, wincing slightly at the man’s too-tight grip.

“Likewise. Wanna beer?” The man jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Ezio probably won’t maim you if you set foot in the kitchen.”

“No thanks,” Arno declines politely. “I think I’ll stick to water tonight.”

That earned him a grin and an unexpected and vigorous hair-ruffling. “Haha! Fifty points to you for not making your boyfriend be the only sober one in the room!” Arno boggled at the man as he produced and honest-to-god scorecard from his back pocket and began scribbling on it. “Add that to the hundred-fifty points you got earlier for getting Connor out of the house so we could fuck in the shower, and you’re already well in the clear!”

“Please shut up forever.”

——

“Do you want to come with me to Washington?” Arno askes later, after the two of them have retreated to Connor’s room for the night. He’s sitting with his back to the bed, watching the fat snowflakes falling through the window. Behind him, Connor is busy undoing his long braid, sticking the feather (ice blue, today), into a little basket that sits on top of his dresser. “Dad’s going to be busy most of the time, so it’s not like you’d be intruding.”

Connor stops for a moment, fumbling the brush he’d been about to pick up. Then he’s padding over to join Arno on the floor. “I don’t have money for a plane ticket.”

Arno holds out his hand for the brush as he scoots behind his boyfriend to start brushing out his hair. “I’m driving, actually,” he says as he gets started, careful not to pull when he runs into a snag. Connor’s hair is very long and straight and _thick_ ; lustrous in a way that makes Arno want to put his hands in it whenever it’s not tightly braided up. “You don’t have to come if you’re not ready to meet my dad or whatever. I promise I won’t be upset.”

Connor hums in acknowledgement; their reflection in the window lets Arno see that his eyes are closed. “I don’t mind meeting your father. He can’t be worse then Ezio and Edward.” Arno laughs quietly at that.

“He won’t be. I think he’ll like you.” Arno smiles at the way Connor tilts his head this way and that so easily under his direction as he runs his fingers through the coolins at the nape of his neck. “He always says it’s more important that I like being with whoever I’m dating than that he approves.”

Connor’s response is an affirmative-sounding ‘hmmm’ as he tilts his head back further into Arno’s touch. Apparently having his hair brushed makes him loose-limbed and heavy eyed. Arno doesn’t really mind abandoning the conversation for the sake of this. It’s so rare to see Connor so completely relaxed. His boyfriend isn’t constantly nervous and tense; but he always seems _poised_. Ready and effortlessly alert. That he’s willing to let go of that so completely when they’re alone means a lot to him.

Once he’s finished with the brush he sets it aside and lets his hands take over, twirling locks around his fingers gently while Connor continues to make noises of contentment. Arno would gladly spend all night turning his boyfriend into goo but for the way he’s kind of being crushed against the bedframe and his own increasing drowsiness.

“Bed.” He murmurs, tapping Connor on the back gently. “C’mon. Let me up so we can sleep.”

Connor makes a grumpy noise in the back of his throat, but lets Arno to escape from underneath him, and then allows himself to be tugged to his feet and shuffles off to the bathroom to brush his teeth with minimal prompting.

“‘Ahl goh wiif ou ‘o ‘ee see,” Connor mumbles around a mouthful of toothpaste while they stand next to each other in front of the bathroom sink. Arno raises a questioning eyebrow because he understood none of that. He gets a sleepy eye-roll in return.

“I said I’ll go with you to DC,” Connor clarifies when he’s spit and rinsed, dabbing the leftover foam off with the corner of his towel. Arno smiles as much as he can around the handle of his own toothbrush before he follows suit.

“It’ll be fun.”

Connor gives him a sleepy smile as they tiptoe past the room Ezio and Edward (and apparently Leonardo) share and back to Connor’s own room. Any awkwardness that should surround sharing a bed for the first time is forgotten in favor of flopping down immediately and covering themselves with Connor’s giant fluffy blankets.

It’s both more and less intimate than the last time Arno shared a bed. More intimate because with Connor this feels like something he could keep doing every night; soft and un-rushed and without expectations. Less because unlike the last time he shared a bed, he’s considerably more clothed and less sweaty and wrung out.

Arno tucks his head under Connor’s chin, pressing his face into the soft cotton of Connor’s t-shirt. He’ll probably wake up sweaty and too hot, since his boyfriend is a walking furnace; but for now it’s good.

——

Ratonhnhaké:ton meets Arno’s dad at his hotel in Dupont circle on Monday evening. DC is rain-drenched and gloomy under heavy skies, and by the time he and Arno have gotten their bags from the trunk of the car to the lobby it feels like he’ll never be dry again. His hair in particular is soaked, dripping icy droplets down the back of his neck from the large bun he’d put it up in.

“I’m here with Charles Dorian,” Arno tells the smartly-dressed woman behind the check-in desk. “He should have arrived yesterday?”

The woman types something on her computer, then nods at them both. “Yes he did. Are you Mr. Arno Dorian?”

_“Oui madame.”_

She smiles at them both. “Well it’s nice to meet you. Is he with you?” She asks, gesturing over Arno’s shoulder at him.

“Yeah he is. Is that all right?”

“Of course, honey. I’ll need to see your photo IDs and then I can give you the keys to your room.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton nods, and after a short fight with the sodden pockets of his jeans, manages to produce his tribal membership card to hand to her. “I have a passport too, if you need something else.” She takes a look at the card with raised eyebrows; probably trying to figure out how to pronounce his name. “It’s pronounced _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ , but Connor is fine,” he explains.

She nods and types something else into the computer before handing the card back. “Nice to meet you Connor. Let me get some keys made up for you boys.”

A few minutes later they’re standing inside the spacious room and peeling themselves out of their soaked clothes; bags dropped just inside the door to avoid tracking water everywhere.

Ratonhnhaké:ton ducks into the bathroom as soon as he’s down to his underwear to grab them towels while Arno digs his (thankfully dry) phone out of his backpack.

“Dad says he’ll be about fifteen minutes,” Arno announces when Ratonhnhaké:ton hands him his towel. “He also says he can’t wait to meet you.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s not exactly _nervous_ about meeting Arno’s dad (he’s been reassured that Charles Dorian has approved of boyfriends that had been absolute disasters from start to finish), but he does want to make a good impression. He’s never needed to impress his partners’ parents before; either because they’d all known each other since he was in diapers of because said parents were apparently racist and wouldn’t care how desirable he might be simply because of his heritage.

He rummages around in his bag for a pair of sweat pants and his brushes, forgoing a shirt for the moment until he’s gotten his hair dry enough not to immediately soak one. Arno is already dressed in dry clothes and taking over the mess that is his hair by the time his father arrives.

The man who opens the door looks to be in his late forties, touches of grey at the temples, kind face with laugh-lines and a pair of glasses resting on the end of his nose. He carries a dripping umbrella and a sleek-looking briefcase that he drops by the door as soon as it swings closed.  
“I’m back!” He calls in a sing-song voice, grinning at the picture they make; Ratonhnhaké:ton seated shirtless on the floor with Arno seated in the chair behind him working a brush through his hair. “You must be Connor,” he says, reaching out to shake his hand.

Ratonhnhaké:ton takes it, smiling. Something about Arno’s father puts his nerves right out of his mind. “That’s right. Or _Ratonhnhaké:ton;_ but most people have trouble pronouncing that one.”

 _“Ratonhnhaké:ton,”_ Charles’ pronunciation is impeccable, just as Arno’s was whenever he used it. “Yes, not the sort of sounds the average English-speaker encounters. Would you prefer that I use that name?”

“Connor is fine,” Ratonhnhaké:ton assures him, although he’s touched that the man offered. Most don’t bother. “Can I call you Charles?”

“Of course.” Charles sits down on the edge of the bed to untie his dress shoes. His socks are black with little Canadian flags on them. The man sighs as he wiggles his toes briefly, obviously enjoying the freedom before he stands and heads toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get out of this monkey suit and then we can go have dinner. Sound good?”

——

Sleeping in the same bed with his boyfriend while in the same room with his father turns out to not be as awkward as Arno thought it would be. His dad gets along with Connor just as well as Arno expected he would; and most nights the two of them are out walking and talking when his dad falls asleep.

Arno learns a lot more about Connor on their walks. He learns that Connor spent his first three years after high school working as a floor pianist in first a shopping mall and then a casino owned by his tribe. His mom was in the hospital for most of it; Connor’s wages keeping them afloat as she fought a loosing battle with cancer. Connor doesn’t talk about that part much; preferring to recount silly stories about drunken patrons and staff mishaps.

He learns about Haytham, Connor’s father, one evening while they sit on the steps of the Jefferson memorial and watch brightly lit boats pass by on the Potomac. Haytham who loved his mother but could not handle being a father. Who couldn’t admit to his bigoted family that he’d fathered a child with a woman who wasn’t white and European. Haytham had left both of them to go home and pretend he’d never had a son while still making sure that a portion of his income was sent to Connor’s college fund every month and sending his mother roses on her birthday every year.

“He cares,” Connor says, watching his fingers lace together in front of him. “But not enough to be my father in the eyes of his family.

Arno takes him to the read-through of the Messiah at the Kennedy Center (his dad hands Connor the ticket he’d bought for himself and tells them that next year he’ll buy three), and they stumble through it together along with the rest of the three hundred attendees; Connor proving to have just as nice a voice as Arno suspected he had. Afterwards Connor tells him about going to an Iroquois Winter festival at one of the larger reservations with his friends from high school when they were seniors; how they all scared the crap out of some poor waitress in a pancake house on the way home when they walked in wearing full traditional dress and shouting at each other in mohawk.

Two days later as they’re walking around a light display at some big botanical garden in Wheaton, Arno finally gets to pull Connor down by the back of the neck and kiss his stupidly attractive face, hidden from the crowds by the glare of the lights and the drooping branches of a bare willow tree. Connor’s lips are hot and chapped and taste faintly of the hot chocolate he bought on the way in. Arno loves it. The noise Connor makes when Arno winds his fingers in his hair to keep him close as they catch their breath afterwards has him readjusting himself surreptitiously for a while afterwards. Connor’s flushed face and slightly awkward gait show that he’s having the same problem.

Of course, now that he’s done it once, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. He wants to kiss Connor _all the time_. He doesn’t, because Connor dislikes people watching him when his back is turned; but lets Connor know that he wants to, and the smile he gets each time is happy and shy and just a little bit _wondering_. He starts getting those looks a lot (Connor is very kissable).

They very pointedly _don’t_ go to the Washington Monument. Connor’s explained to him how Washington ordered the expulsion of his people from their lands in New York after the revolution; how so many of them died before they were sheltered by the British in Canada. How the way Washington is practically worshiped in America leaves a bad taste in his mouth and impotent anger in his heart. They pass it once on the way to the Lincoln memorial, and Arno points out how the obelisk is a perfect representation of how much of a dick Washington must have been. Connor snorts out a laugh at his words, quickly hiding it behind his hand when a group of tourists wearing MAGA hats glare at them.

Dad takes them to dinner at the embassy on Christmas eve, and they spend most of it grinning at each other like idiots. The diplomats are mostly ignoring them, although dad tries to pull them into the conversation once or twice. Arno watches him smiling at the naval attaché who’s been sitting across from him all evening and wonders if they’ll ever date. The way they laugh together is promising.

Christmas morning is accompanied by a small pile of carefully-wrapped presents for each of them (even Connor, to the man’s surprise). Arno gets the complete anthology of Schubert’s lieder that he’s been drooling over. Connor gets a package of real eagle feathers from his dad as well as some books and tins of fancy French cocoa from Arno (He also gets a very nice kiss later when Arno’s dad is out of the room). His dad gets a new neck pillow and the first few books of a series Connor had been recommending to him over breakfast a few days ago. They eat room service and laze around for a while until Connor drags him out for lunch. They hold hands all the way to the restaurant. It’s perfect.

——

Ratonhnhaké:ton gets a tight hug and a kiss on both cheeks when he and Arno say their goodbyes to Charles on the 28th. Arno is smiling at them both from where he’s leaning against the side of the car, looking relaxed and happy.

“You boys have a safe trip. Call me when you get there, okay?” Charles stands back so he can look Connor in the eye. “Ratonhnhaké:ton, I know I’m not family, but feel free to call me if you ever need to talk about anything.” He squeezes Ratonhnhaké:ton’s shoulders gently. “You’re doing great on your own, but we all need help sometimes. I’m happy to do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Ratonhnhaké:ton’s does his best to keep his voice even as Charles lets him go. “I’ll remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name comes from another Samuel Barber setting. Coolins are the curly hairs that grow on the back of your neck when you haven't gotten your hair cut in a while. Being close enough to someone to notice them was apparently close enough to be intimate? IDK, but it's a nice piece of music.
> 
> As a 7th generation Washingtonian, I'm always a little sad that things I want to read are never set there, even though it's a really interesting and beautiful city. Discussions of good ol' George Washington are based upon Assassins' Creed history, and may or may not represent actual events. The Washington Monument remains dick-shaped, however. Locations visited in DC that aren't named include the Dupont Circle Hotel (where my little sister used to be a bartender), and Brookside Gardens (a very nice botanical garden in Wheaton just outside of DC). The Kennedy Center Messiah Reda-Along is an actual event that takes place every year, although it can be hard to get tickets because it's very popular.
> 
> Leonardo, Ezio, and Edward did actually get married while they were in Tibet over the summer before the events of this story. According to Wikipedia, poly marriages are common there (although I've obviously bent some of the gender norms). It's obviously not recognized in the US, but their three families were pretty chill about it (Mamma Maria even went with them to take pictures, because lack of a Catholic ceremony isn't going to stop her from going to her middle child's wedding).


	4. Heaven, Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo comes back from abroad, and is surprisingly a massive dick.

Ratonhnhaké:ton knows it’s going to be a long semester before he’s even finished his second day of college.    
  
His music theory and history classes are all just enough behind his own studies to be boring, but not far enough behind for him to test out.  His first-year writing seminar isn’t much better, although at least the professor’s course plan looks like it’ll get more interesting as it goes on.  French is at least a little more at his level since he’s been speaking it for most of his life.  He knows he’s going to _loathe_ piano lessons with Robert de Sable; even if he tested out of the piano proficiency exam on the first day.  Choir with Arno ends up being the high-point of the day, even if the pace of rehearsal makes him feel like he’s the slowest student in the room.    
  
And then he comes home to _this_.  ‘This’ being his housemates fucking in the living room.    
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton lets out a mortified half-yelp and backpedals out the front door; slamming it behind him.  _What the fuck?_   He sits himself down on the front stoop and slips his phone out of his pocket.  
  
——  
  
**Ratonhnhaké:ton** : Came home to housemates having sex in the living room  
  
**Arno:** WTF?!  
**Arno** : Did they stop when you walked in?  
  
**Ratonhnhaké:ton** : Don’t know.  I walked right back out.  
  
**Arno** : They didn’t text you?  
  
**Ratonhnhaké:ton:** No.  
  
**Arno** : Go back inside and throw snowballs at them until they stop.  Or do you want to come back here?    
  
**Ratonhnhaké:ton** :  Is it all right if I come to yours?  It’s been a long day and I really don’t want to deal with them right now.  
  
**Arno** : Of course! :D  
**Arno** : See you soon!  
  
——  
  
“You’re being an asshole about this, Leo,”  Edward glares at his partner in the mirror as he inspects the hickeys the man left all over his neck.  “The kid’s got enough on his plate without you getting pissy about him taking over your ‘studio.’    
  
“I’m doing nothing of the sort.  He laid out his ground rules; and I’m respecting them.”  Leonardo’s smile is smug as he reaches up to trace a finger over over one of the marks he left on Edward’s shoulder.  “At no time did any sexual activity occur anywhere near the kitchen.”  
  
Edward shrugs him off in irritation.  “Don’t pretend that you’re the innocent here, Leo.  I _know_ Ezio showed you his schedule.  You knew exactly when he’d be getting back.”  He turns around, leaning back against the sink so he can look Leonardo in the eye.  “Leo, it’s not the first time you’ve done something like this.  I let it go last time because Cesare was fucking horrible to Ezio; but it’s not fucking okay to harass people like that!”  
  
Leonardo crosses his arms over his (still bare and very distracting) chest and looks away.  Edward kind of wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.  He doesn’t, because he’s not that kind of person anymore; but the though is there.  
  
“I know it’s a big deal for you when someone you don’t know comes into your space without you having time to prepare first.” Edward wishes Ezio were here to have this conversation for him; he’s much better at talking Leonardo out of his moods.  “I get it.  I still love you.  If you’re going to be mad at Connor for being assigned to the our spare room there’s nothing I can do to stop you.  But don’t involve me like that again; alright?  I’m not angry at him, and he doesn’t deserve it.”  
  
Leonardo nods to let him know he understands; but Edward can tell that he hasn’t managed to actually dissuade Leonardo from prodding at Connor until he caves.  He _hates_ when Leonardo gets like this; it makes him think about all the ways that the three of them could break apart.  It’s why he and Leonardo don’t work without Ezio.  Ezio has the mental dexterity necessary to at least draw in a contest of logic with Leonardo; something Edward doesn’t think he’ll ever possess.  Leonardo always listens when Edward tries, and always respects the boundaries Edward sets for himself; but he won’t be swayed.  
  
“In case it wasn’t clear, I’m angry about this,” Edward states as he steps around Leonardo to get to the bathroom door.  “I’m going to go call Connor and apologize.  If you think you can get over whatever it is about him living here that’s bothering you then I’m happy to try to talk it through with you; but I’m not going to be down for round two for a while.”  
  
——  
  
**Edward** : Hey, I wanted to apologize for what you walked in on earlier.  Leonardo was being petty, and I let him get away with it.  
**Edward** : It wasn’t cool for us to force our sex life on you like that, especially after you were so cool about our relationship in the first place.  
**Edward** : Ezio and I really like having you as our housemate; and neither of us wants you to feel unwelcome.    
**Edward** : Also, please acknowledge that I actually used proper grammar for once because I’m really serious about this.  
  
**Connor** : Thank you for apologizing.    
**Connor** : I’m going to spend the night at Arno’s because I’m still a little angry.  
**Connor** : How is your boyfriend being petty?  
  
**Edward** : Leonardo doesn’t adjust well to changing his studio space.  He used to use your room as his studio when he was living with us; and he wants it back.  
**Edward** : He knows that it’s not your fault you were assigned there.  I think maybe he’s annoyed that you didn’t move out when you found out that we were all in a relationship?    
**Edward** : IDK, Ezio’s the one that understands what’s up when he gets like this.    
**Edward** : Ezio can talk him down, but he won’t be back from Italy until Friday because of some family thing he has to go to.    
  
**Connor** : Do I have to avoid the apartment until then?  
**Connor** : I’m going to complain to housing if I have to.  
**Connor** : I know he’s your boyfriend, but this is harassment.  
  
**Edward** : I know it is, and I made sure he does too.  
**Edward** : I love the guy, but he can suffer blue balls until Ezio gets back if he’s going to be an asshole for no reason.  
**Edward** : I won’t be mad if you make a complaint.  He shouldn’t have done it; and I shouldn’t have gone along with it.  
  
**Connor** : I’ve got class all morning tomorrow, but I’ll be back for lunch.  
**Connor** : Add the rest of the apartment that isn’t your room to the list of places where sex is prohibited, just in case.  
**Connor** : If your boyfriend can behave himself then he can have the bathroom shower back; provided the door is closed and clearly marked.  
  
**Edward** : Done.  
  
——  
  
_“Pronto!”_  
  
_“Hey babe.  Just wanted to tell you that I love you, and also that Leo is apparently going to throw a fit over Connor’s room.”_  
  
_“Of course he is.  Quello che è successo?”_  
  
_“Got Connor to walk in on us fucking after his first day of class and didn’t stop when he walked in.  I wasn’t thinking about the time when we got started, but you know how his memory is.”_  
  
_“Si, I know.  Did you talk to him?”_  
  
_“I tried. It went about as well as it normally goes.  Will you talk to him when you get back?”_  
  
_“Si, si.  I will set him straight.  The bambino does not deserve his retribution.”_  
  
_“Thanks.  I apologized to Connor, too.  I feel like shit for not figuring it out sooner.”_  
  
_“We both should have realized he would be upset; the fault is not entirely yours.  We have been through this before.  We will deal with it, and then have a nice long session with our therapist afterwards.  It’s been a while since we all went together.”_  
  
_“I’ll set up an appointment.”_  
  
_“Bene.  Now, tell me about your day.  I miss your voice._  
  
——  
  
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton is glad that his Tuesdays end at lunch.  The two classes he has before then are long, and the meeting with his advisor (a calm-faced man in his early fifties) feels unbearably awkward; Ratonhnhaké:ton constantly aware of his unwashed hair and rumpled clothing.  _At least Arno had a spare toothbrush._  
  
His advisor doesn’t seem to notice, walking him through the list of courses he’ll need to take for his music major.  Apparently he’ll get a different advisor from the actual music department when he declares; something he mentally vows to do as soon as possible.  
  
Once the meeting is over with he bypasses the dining hall and heads straight back to the apartment complex. Edward’s waiting for him in the living room (fully clothed, this time), a sheepish smile taking over his face as he waves Ratonhnhaké:ton over.  
  
“Hey!  How was class?”  
  
“All right.”  Ratonhnhaké:ton would rather hop right in the shower, and leave this conversation until later; but apparently that isn’t happening; because he can hear the shower running already.  He sits.  
  
“Is that Leonardo in the shower right now?”  He asks after a minute of awkward silence.  
  
Edward opens his mouth to answer, but suddenly pauses, then lets out a frustrated groan.    
  
“He’s doing it on purpose.”  The man sighs, deflating.  “He’s being a fucking child about this, I swear.”  Edward glances over at him.  “You want me to go drag him out?”  
  
“Will it do any good?”  Ratonhnhaké:ton asks.  He doesn’t know Leonardo at all, really; but it doesn’t seem likely.  
  
Edward shrugs.  “Can’t let him get away with it either way.  That’s what our therapist says, anyway; and she’s usually right.”    
  
Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t know what to say to that, so he gets up to throw his bag in his room and change out of his day-old clothes.  Outside his door he can hear Edward raising his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the shower.  He’s barely finished brushing his hair out when Edward knocks on his door to let him know that the shower’s free.  
  
Of course, as soon as he steps into the bathroom he notices what must have been the second half of Leonardo’s plan: the bottles containing both his shampoo and conditioner are both empty, and the bottle of 2-in-1 that he keeps for emergencies has been filled with something that’s a completely different color and therefor likely unusable.  
  
He sighs, and gets in the shower anyway.  The water is only lukewarm, but a rinse is better than nothing.  He uses Edward’s body wash (he doesn’t trust his own at this point), and hops out before the water can turn properly cold.    
  
——  
  
Edward promises to buy him ingredients to make more of his shampoo and conditioner, and tells Ratonhnhaké:ton that Ezio’s booked an earlier flight home.  He feels a little bad for interrupting Ezio’s time with his family, but mostly annoyed that it’s even necessary.  Leonardo is suspiciously absent.  
  
——  
  
**Edward** : Leo I am going to murder you  
**Ezio** : What has he done now?  
  
**Leo** : Nothing.  
  
**Edward** : used up all the hot water so that when Connor got back from being sexiled he couldn’t take a proper shower  
**Edward** : and poured out all the shampoo and conditioner Connor made  
**Edward** : and filled his backup bottle with fucking nair  
**Edward** : wtf Leo he wears his hair like that because hes in fucking /mourning/  
  
**Leo** : Sorry?  
  
**Edward** : It’s not fucking okay, Leo.  You lost the use of the studio you /broke in to/.  
**Edward** : Connor lost the only fucking parent he has who acknowledges his existence.  
**Edward** : I get that your brain does not work the same way mine does.  I know how important having a familiar space is for you.    
**Edward** : But if you can’t start calling your therapist instead of declaring war on people like this than we’re going to have a serious talk about the future of this relationship.  
  
**Leo** : Fine.  I’ll call her tonight.  
  
**Ezio** : It will be good for you, Leonardo.  Both Edward and I can see how much happier you are when you see her regularly.  I’ll be home late Wednesday night; we’ll talk then.  
**Ezio** :  I love you both.  We will sort this out.  
  
——  
  
Arno can see that whatever has been going on with Connor’s housemates hasn’t been resolved as soon as he steps through the door of their reserved practice room.  His normally tightly-braided hair is piled into a messy bun at the base of his neck, his shoulders drooping.  The smile he flashes Arno’s way is just the tiniest bit strained around his eyes and the corners of his lips.  
  
“Hey, you.  Sleep okay?”  He asks as he dumps his bag onto the chair in the corner; music already in hand.  He gets a shrug in response. _Add five more days to Leonardo’s time in the naughty corner._  
  
“You know can stay with me and Desmond if you want,”  Arno offers as he flips through his binder.  “Desmond says he doesn’t mind; and you know I like having you there.”  
  
Connor sighs, but his smile this time is a bit easier.  “If it’s not too much trouble?  Ezio’s supposed to be getting back tonight, and I don’t really want to be around for their… reunion.”  
  
Arno has to suppress a laugh at the face Connor makes at the prospect of his housemates’ romantic activities.  “Of course it’s all right,” he says when he’s sure he’s composed himself enough to not burst into giggles as soon as he opens his mouth.  “Want me to come with you to get your stuff after choir today?”  
  
“Please.”  Connor leans forward to accept the music that Arno holds out for him. His eyebrows going up when he sees the title.  “ _An die fern Geliebte._   Beethoven?”  
  
Arno feels his face heat slightly.  “You’re not particularly distant, but they’re nice.”  He shrugs.  “Dad sings them in the shower sometimes.”  
  
That little tidbit finally has Connor properly smiling as he snaps the pages into his binder.  It makes something loosen in Arno’s chest to see.  “Of course he does.  Where else would you get it from,” Connor chuckles, flexing his fingers over the keys.  “Want to warm up first?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
——  
  
**Ezio** : I have gotten Leonardo to back down, Bambino.  
**Ezio** : I am sorry we did not anticipate this.  
**Ezio** : He stopped calling his therapist two months ago, but did not tell us.  
**Ezio** : When he was still going he was doing much better.    
  
**Connor** : I understand.    
**Connor** : Arno thinks I should make him grovel, but I’d rather just move on if he’s done being an ass.  
**Connor** : I’m sorry you had to cut your time with your family short.  
  
**Ezio** : There will be some groveling.  Edward insisted upon it.  
**Ezio** : And you do not have to worry.  I was only staying to babysit my nephew while my older brother tries to make another one with his wife.    
**Ezio** : Any excuse to delay the conception of their second child is welcome.  
**Ezio** : The first one is loud enough already.  
  
——  
  
There isn’t anyone in the apartment when Ratonhnhaké:ton gets back from class.  Taped to the fridge is a note in Ezio’s florid hand indicates that he and Edward are at a therapy session with Leonardo and won’t be back until later.  Beneath is taped an extremely detailed rendering of his own face.  Ratonhnhaké:ton pulls it off the fridge to inspect more closely.  It’s obviously Leonardo’s work (neither Ezio or Edward can draw), but as far as he can remember they’ve only been in the same room twice.   _Impressive memory._  
  
He turns it over and finds there’s an inscription on the reverse of the portrait.  
  
_Sorry for being a dick._  
  
It’s a start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than some of the other chapters, but mostly because Leonardo being a dick was just something that happened while I was writing this (I originally wanted him to be the sympathetic one, but somehow that ended up being Edward). Leonardo in this universe has an eidetic memory and it kind of fucks with his head a lot (there's probably other stuff going on, but I don't know enough to be specific about it). Regardless, spending six months in Tanzania without any of his support network kinda fucked him up.
> 
> The song cycle by Beethove that is mentioned in the middle of the chapter is very good and you should go listen to it. My favorite recording is by Fritz Wunderlich. Translation to english can be found here: https://hampsongfoundation.org/resource/ludwig-van-beethoven/
> 
> I'm thinking there'll be a bigger time-skip between this chapter and the next, largely because I don't think I can make much of what would naturally follow the events of this chapter particularly interesting. I have one or two scraps that might end up being fleshed out next; and there's another chapter of the R-rated sequel series that I'm working on (Jacob is turning out to have a MUCH filthier mind than I originally thought he would have).
> 
> Related to that series, I've been thinking of the implications of two people of European descent taking on more dominant roles in sexual situations that involve someone of native American descent. While there are no mentions of colonialist role-playing yet (and I am absolutely not going to attempt to write any), there doubtless exist relationships with similar dynamics where such role-playing is something that both parties participate in. I want to make it clear that in those cases both CONSENT and OPEN DISCUSSION are ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL.
> 
> There are some places where I'm finding myself unwilling to go, no matter how hot they might be. Europeans sexualizing Native American culture is one of them. I recognize that it's a thing that happens; and that between consenting individuals it might be okay after discussing it. There are scenes in my head for these guys that involve it. I won't be writing them.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a piece by Samuel Barber that still brings back bittersweet memories of all the growing as a person I did during my first semester of college. Here's a link to a performance I quite like (start at 3:57) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcyvyPLuIKQ
> 
> The text is as follows:
> 
> Sure on this shining night  
> Of star made shadows round,  
> Kindness must watch for me  
> This side the ground.  
> The late year lies down the north.  
> All is healed, all is health.  
> High summer holds the earth.  
> Hearts all whole.  
> Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand'ring far  
> alone  
> Of shadows on the stars. 
> 
> The song Arno is actually singing is called Songs my Mother Taught Me, (Op. 55 No. 4) by Antonin Dvorak.


End file.
